Heroes of Honor: Historical Romance Collection

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “What?!” he roared. “Your word means nothing beneath his deceit.”

  “My word is my honor. I cannot break it.”

  Lucien’s horse pranced, sensing his anger. His deep blue eyes burned with a fury that Ryen had never seen before. He jerked the horse around to face her. “I will not leave without you.”

  Ryen gasped. She had assumed he would go without an argument. “You must!” Ryen begged. “This is your only chance, Lucien.”

  “I will not leave you here, with him.”

  “He will throw you in the dungeon again! Please, Lucien.”

  Lucien’s bearded jaw tightened. “He told me you were dead!”

  Ryen looked away. “He told me you were dead, also.”

  Lucien moved to dismount. “Then I will cut him down.”

  “No!” Ryen shouted, and moved immediately to the other horse. She pulled her dress up over her knees so she could mount.

  Lucien straightened on the animal. His lip curled before he yanked savagely on the reins and rode for the gates.

  Ryen spared a last look at Dark Castle. She hoped someone would find Grey quickly, that he would be all right. Then she thought on her promise. She had given Bryce her word. But more important than her word was that no harm befell…Lucien, yes, of course. Who else could she have been worried about? He was in no condition to face the Prince of Darkness in his weakened state. She had a loyalty to her brother as kin, a loyalty to France and to King Charles. She had no loyalty to Bryce…only her heart ached when she thought of him. I trusted you, Bryce, she thought. But you lied to me. I cannot forgive you for that.

  Ryen spurred her horse, riding toward the gates into the setting sun.

  Standing in the outer gatehouse, watching the two riders through a vertical slitted window as they fled from the castle, Polly stood shaking her head. She caressed one of the bridles she held tightly in her hands.

  “Don’t feel so bad,” a voice from behind her snickered. “Now, you have only one thing to do and you will not have to spend any time in the dungeon.” Lotte moved past Polly to glance out the window. “Everything is going perfectly.”

  Polly turned to leave the small room.

  “Oh,” Lotte called. When Polly paused, Lotte continued, “If I catch you warming yourself by the kitchen fire again, you will have a month of chores added to your tasks.”

  Chapter Forty Two

  Bryce could not get Ryen out of his mind. Every tree’s bark hid her smile; the blue of the sky was but a twinkle in her eye; the moon’s brightness paled in the light of her glow. He wanted to see her so badly that he had ridden back two days early, leaving his exhausted men to make camp somewhere far behind him. Only Talbot had ridden with him.

  As they approached the tall gates of Dark Castle, the image of Ryen promised warmth on the chill night. Suddenly, the hair on the back of Bryce’s neck stood straight. Only half of his soldiers walked the walls. Bryce spurred his mount, racing the already exhausted beast into his castle. As he dismounted, one of the guards came rushing up to him.

  “What’s happened?” Bryce demanded, fighting down the feeling of doom that slithered up his spine.

  “It’s lady Ryen. She’s gone,” the knight answered.

  Bryce’s frown deepened.

  “Gone?” Talbot asked, dismounting beside Bryce.

  “Aye,” the guard replied, his brow creased in concern and fear. “She is not in the castle.”

  “How long has she been missing?” Bryce queried, his level tone hiding the pounding of his heart.

  The man shuffled his feet nervously.

  “Answer me, damn it,” Bryce growled.

  “She’s been gone since late last eve,” the knight said.

  Bryce swung himself up into the saddle.

  “M’lord, she helped a prisoner to escape!”

  Bryce froze, every muscle in his body tensing. The knuckles of his hands turned white as they clutched the reins of the horse. His dark eyes burned Talbot to the spot. “Find her.”

  Polly’s hands kneaded her apron. She stood staring at Bryce’s hands clenched behind his back as he glared out of the window into the darkness.

  “How did this happen?”

  His voice caused her to jump.

  “M’lord?” Polly asked, her voice trembling.

  “Do not play games with me, Polly,” Bryce murmured. “I know you two have become close. I want to know what she said before she left.”

  Polly hesitated. Her hands had begun to shake. “She was very upset, m’lord.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. But she said she hated ya ‘n would rather die than face ya again.”

  Bryce did not move. His body was ice. “Where did she go?”

  “Ta France, m’lord. She was goin’ home.” Polly hesitated. She didn’t want to say the next words, but the promise of the dungeon made her add, “Ta her true love, Count Dumas.”

  Bryce turned to face her, and for the first time Polly saw the agony in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was soft and broken. “How did she find out about her brother?”

  “I don’t know, m’lord,” Polly answered.

  He straightened to his full height, until he towered over the plump maid. Then he pushed past her and quit his chambers, leaving Polly standing in the wake of his loneliness and remorse.

  Polly’s whole body shook as tremors of terror raced along her spine. Just below her fear hid misery. What am I doin’ ta them? she asked herself for the thousandth time. Condemning them to a life of anguish and bitterness? They were enemies, she reasoned, pacing the bedroom. They don’t belong together anyway. And the dungeon was a very cold place.

  Ryen and Lucien traveled with little sleep and no food. But as they rested on the second day, Ryen felt numb. She didn’t hear the rumblings of her stomach. She didn’t feel the soreness throughout her body from countless hours of hard riding.

  She and Lucien had barely exchanged two words during their journey. She wondered if he even knew where he was going. Ryen raised her tired, aching eyes to her brother.

  He still carried with him the filth of the dungeon, reeked of urine and sweat. She briefly wondered why he hadn’t washed in the stream they’d happened upon a day ago. But the thought of the stream brought aching, tender memories of Bryce’s glorious naked body, glistening in the moonlight, poised far above the falls.

  Her chest tightened and tears rose in her eyes. She missed him. And she hated herself for being so weak. He had lied to her! Ryen closed her eyes tightly against the torment that his image brought to her heart.

  It was not only the ache in her heart that hurt, but the agony of her soul. She had told Bryce she would stay at Dark Castle. And when she left with Lucien, she had forsaken her honor. She fought down the feeling that she should return to Dark Castle and keep her word. But, as she swiveled her eyes to Lucien who was squatting, mumbling incoherently as he gazed blankly at the ground, she could see the weariness in his slumped shoulders. Lucien needed her here with him.

  Again Ryen dropped her head. Her honor was at stake. If she did not return, how could she hope to ever see herself as a true knight? She lived every hour of her life by the Code of Chivalry. And now she was shattering the very foundation upon which it was built.

  “Ryen.”

  She jumped and her eyes came to focus on her brother. His dirty brows drew together as he studied her face.

  “We must get food,” he finally announced. “And new horses. These are tired and well ridden.” His eyes bore into her and Ryen looked away, nodding. “Are you ill?” Lucien asked.

  Ryen glanced back at the way they had just come, back toward Dark Castle. “No,” she murmured.

  After a moment, he took her hand, helping her to her feet, and led the way through the bushes to the horses.

  Bryce thundered into town with a garrison of soldiers. He dismounted before his horse had completely stopped and walked toward the stables where an older man stood before the wooden door.
r />   “Are you sure it was her?” he asked.

  “Aye, m’lord,” the old man answered, scratching his chest. “She took a loaf of bread and two horses, then headed down the road.”

  Bryce studied the old man’s haggard face and his sharp eyes saw the slight swelling and purplish coloring of a bruise beneath one of the man’s wrinkled eyes. “You tried to stop her, didn’t you?”

  The peasant dropped his eyes. “Aye.”

  “I warned you to stay out of her way. Was she hurt?”

  “No, m’lord.”

  “Good.” Bryce whirled, returning to his steed. He climbed into the saddle, his dark eyes stormy as he glared in the direction Ryen had fled. It was a large area to search, many roads they could have taken. But he would find her. She would not slip through his fingers.

  He glanced at one of the men in his garrison. “Ride to Dark Castle. Tell the Wolf Pack they are needed with all due speed.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” the man replied, and turned his horse around.

  If anyone could track her, they could.

  It wasn’t until the following night that the Wolf Pack arrived on horseback. Bryce was pacing before the wooden door of the stables like a caged lion.

  Night dismounted, followed by Grey. They approached Bryce and he halted immediately, his hands on his hips.

  “What took so long?” Bryce snapped as they neared.

  A slight breeze ruffled Night’s fur cape, but the two men did not move nor answer.

  Bryce growled, dragging a hand through his dark hair. He began to pace again. He was feeling the strain of his determination. He hadn’t eaten in a full day, hadn’t slept all night. “I need your help,” he told his two friends.

  “She was last seen here?” Grey wondered.

  “A day ago,” Bryce answered, nodding.

  Night glanced at the ground, his eyes studying the dirt path that merged with the street. “A day is a long time. Many tracks have covered hers. The wind has blown over it –”

  “I don’t want to hear that,” Bryce growled. “Find her.”

  “We will begin here,” Grey replied.

  The two men of the Wolf Pack turned away and headed back to their horses.

  Bryce reached out and seized Grey’s shoulder. Grey turned to look at him and saw the desperation in his eyes. “You must find her.”

  “We will do all we can, brother,” Grey answered. “My honor is at stake as well.”

  Ryen shivered and hugged her arms. Lucien had driven the horses relentlessly for two days. Now, as she sat huddled beneath an elm tree near a slow-moving brook, Ryen watched her brother through worried eyes. He had refused to light a fire even though it was cold enough to see their breath.

  Lucien stood on a small hill, his dark shape outlined by twinkling stars. During the day, he had continued to mumble to himself, his eyes rolling into his head. They had stopped then, and rested only on Ryen’s insistence that she was tired.

  She shivered again as she watched him. He appeared normal now, but all her reasoning told her that something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. Ryen pulled her knees into her chest. They would freeze to death out in the open if they did not start a fire.

  Suddenly, she heard a noise. Her head shot up, her eyes piercing the darkness. Nothing. No movement. No sound. She turned to Lucien. He had not moved. Perhaps it is my nerves, she thought. She tried to relax, rolling her shoulders to loosen them.

  Lucien stood and turned to her. His gaze was hard, his lips set in a thin line. As he approached her, his footsteps came down hard on the earth.

  Ryen rose to her feet as he came to a halt before her.

  “There are some things that trouble me, Sister,” Lucien said.

  Ryen heard the curtness in his voice and did not answer.

  “I find it peculiar that you were not in the dungeon, as I was,” he continued, then paused for an answer.

  Ryen stared at his darkly ringed, red streaked eyes, his taut face, his clenched jaw. She was afraid to say anything for fear of enflaming his anger further.

  Suddenly, he reached out and seized a handful of the rich velvet material of her skirt. “No prisoner wears such clothing.”

  Instinctively Ryen jerked away, pulling her skirt from his hand.

  His teeth were clenched, snipping the end of each word. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

  His statement shocked her and she took a step away from him.

  “She told me you did, but I didn’t believe her. Not until now. It all makes sense. Why you’re dressed the way you are. Why you weren’t in the dungeon.” Lucien took a step closer. “Why you didn’t want to leave.”

  “I gave my word!” Ryen hollered.

  “She called you a French slut.”

  Ryen took another step away from Lucien and her back slammed into the tree. Her fears of what she had become rose in her mind again. Bryce’s slut. He had labeled her that on their first night together. And now his words rang true. “Who called me that?”

  “His dark haired whore,” Lucien replied bitterly. “Who better to see?”

  Days of agony rose inside of her, nights of loneliness. “Oh, Lucien,” Ryen whispered, tears filling her eyes. “I thought he loved me.”

  “Loved?” He spat the word as if it were poison. “And you embraced him willingly?”

  Guilt and remorse rose inside her. She turned away from her brother. “Yes,” she whimpered.

  “Then you are truly a traitor.”

  There was a calm in his voice that frightened Ryen, and as she turned to look at him, she heard the silent hiss of the sword being pulled from his belt. Ryen stared at him in disbelief, unable to move as he pointed the tip of the weapon at her throat.

  “You deserve death!” he sneered.

  One of the horses whinnied nervously, and all at once the forest seemed to come alive.

  Lucien pulled his arm back for the final thrust. She twisted and the sword whirled past her, slamming into the bark of the elm tree.

  Branches reached out to seize her arms and wrists. Shadows moved about her as if they, too, were alive. Lucien was lost from her view, swallowed by a sea of darkness.

  A hand covered her mouth, cutting off any sound.

  She felt a rush of power as she lashed out with her knee, catching her captor off guard. She heard a groan as the hand fell from her mouth and wrist. Ryen tore her other arm free and paused, searching the forest for Lucien. Dark shapes seemed to dance before the reflection of the stars in the water of the brook.

  A face rose before her and she gasped, stumbling back. Through the shadowy light, she saw a hairy face, teeth pointed to white fangs and eyes red like a demon’s. Ryen turned and fled.

  Behind her she heard angry shouts. She dashed through the bushes, her heart pounding wildly, the wind roaring in her ears. Bare branches slapped at her face as she crashed through them. Unable to see for the darkness, Ryen pushed blindly on, her hands outstretched to try to feel what was in front of her only moments before her feet landed on the uneven ground beneath the bushes.

  It’s not real, she told herself, and slowed her steps. It could not be real. Then, over the mad beat of her heart and the rush of blood in her ears, a howl broke the silence of the night. Heavy running footsteps snapped branches and crushed leaves behind her. She broke into a run, turning her head to look over her shoulder, but could see only the darkness. When she spun to face forward, she saw the shadow of the tree too late. Her feet slid in the leaves and she caught herself on the cold bark of the tree. As she turned to head away from the barrier, her dress snagged on the branches of the bushes near her feet.

  He bore down upon her like a devil, seizing her wrist in a steely grip. Ryen fought blindly against his strength, but he proved too powerful, stilling her vain struggle by grabbing her other wrist. She looked up into his eyes, which were red like fire. With a gasp, she stumbled back into the trees. He threw back his head and a howl tore from his throat.

  The man who had captured her w
as no man at all, but an animal! It propelled her back toward her camp. She stumbled and fell, but he grabbed her arm, his fingers biting into her flesh, and yanked her to her feet.

  A campfire loomed just beyond the trees they were rapidly approaching. The flickering of the flames cast eerie shadows on the trees of the forest.

  Her captor yanked her through the foliage and Ryen felt a branch slice her skin. Her other cuts suddenly flared to life and her body ached from exhaustion.

  Ryen raised her eyes to the beast that held her wrist as he emerged from the forest and the firelight washed over him. His face was covered with fur, his nose shaped like the muzzle of a beast. It was a wolf, Ryen realized. A wolf that walked like a man! She had heard such fairy tales but had never believed them until now. She tried to pull her hand free, but her movement only succeeded in turning the man-wolf’s glare upon her.

  “Bring her,” a voice called from near the firelight.

  The man-wolf pulled her closer to the fire, where she found herself surrounded by seven similar creatures.

  One of them placed his hand on his muzzle and raised it up. The wolf-face slid away and Ryen gasped. It was Grey. He was all right Then, it dawned on her. The Wolf Pack!

  At the same time, the realization struck that they were returning her to Bryce.

  Ryen quickly backed away until she bumped into a wall of flesh. She couldn’t suppress a whimper as she was spun around to face the man.

  Bryce held her at arm’s length, the fire reflecting in his black eyes as he scowled at her. They went from her wild hair to her torn dress.

  She steeled herself against the sadness that reared its head inside her at his hateful stare.

  Then his gaze shifted to Grey. There was no sound as they contemplated each other. Bryce finally nodded and said, “Bring the man to my castle.”

  Grey dipped his head slightly.

  Ryen felt Bryce’s hand clamp over her arm, and he turned her away.

  His steps were large and surefooted, and Ryen had to struggle to keep up with him. His fingers dug into her flesh as he pulled her along.